


Tight connections

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Series: Every man for ourselves [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of past torture/noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 07:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7426276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>D'Artagnan comes home and Athos is there for him.</p><p>Continues from the end of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7423993">Re-connections</a>.</p><p>James Bond is not really in the story any more, save as an irritant in their memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tight connections

Constance put her hand on Charles’s knee. “Stop jiggling.”

“Why aren’t we there yet? Are you sure Athos is fine with me coming down? God, I don’t want to be a drag on them all.”

“We will be soon, yes of course he is, and you won’t be. Calm down, my love.”

Charles stared out of the car window, glad to see normal life again, but knowing it would be weeks and weeks before he’d be part of it. If ever, depending on the shoulder injury. The only good thing about the injuries was that they were all on the same side. He _might_ be allowed to use a crutch in a couple of weeks. But he wouldn’t be fit to work in the field for a long time yet.

“And here we are.”

He looked up, amazed that he had become so lost in his self-pity that the rest of the journey through the town had gone so fast. Or had the traffic just dissipated? Athos, Porthos and Aramis were stood on the pavement, waiting for them.

Waiting for him. _Oh God_.

“Charles,” Constance murmured. “They’re not going to eat you. Not unless you ask nicely, at least.”

“You have a filthy mind, Constance du Martin.”

“And proud of it. Just here, please,” she told the driver.

Charles had to wait until the driver parked and extracted the wheelchair from the boot before he opened the door. Before he could help Charles out, Porthos and Aramis were there to lift him out gently and put him in the chair.

“And there you are,” Aramis said, bending to kiss him on the cheek. Porthos ruffled his hair, grinning like a loon.

Aramis pushed the chair around the car, and there he was. Athos. Arms folded, expression unreadable. _Oh God_.

“Charles,” Athos murmured, bending down to hug him. “You’re finally here. I’m so glad.”

Behind him, Constance grinned. “And you thought they didn’t want you here.”

“What? Who said that? I’ll kill ‘em,” Porthos said, not entirely jokingly.

“A misunderstanding,” Athos said, straightening up. “Let’s get off the road, everyone.”

“Olivier, I have to get back. I’m sorry, my dear.”

Athos kissed Constance’s cheek. “I should have come and collected him. Thank you. Come down this weekend?”

“Saturday?”

“Yes. Any time.”

“Then I’ll see you then.” She bent to kiss Charles on the cheek. “Behave. Get well. Don’t gamble your pay away with Paul.”

“I’m not allowed to play for money with them any more,” Porthos complained. “Treville’s orders.”

“Good. See you on the weekend, boys.”

She waved and got back in the car. Charles felt his heart clench, watching her go. He would always be a little bit in love with her, however much they hadn’t worked as a couple. It was impossible not to love Constance as far as he was concerned, and he would fight anyone who said otherwise.

At least, he would when he was mended.

“Gentlemen? Would you do the honours?” Athos asked.

Aramis and Porthos carried him as easily as a puppy in its crate up the two steps to the house’s path, but it was Athos who took control of the chair after that, pushing it though it was an electric model, necessarily since Charles had one useless arm.

“And here you are, home,” Athos said, pushing him into the living area with the wall to ceiling windows. Charles loved this house. “Now, what do you want first?”

“Coffee. Decent coffee.”

“Aramis, is he allowed it?”

Aramis made a great play of reading the care notes Constance had handed him. “Hmmm. You know, caffeine is often a very bad idea when you’re healing....”

“Aramis, please? I’m dying.”

Athos grinned, and Porthos laughed. “You should see your face, pup. Those eyes should be illegal. Come on, Aramis, give him what he needs.”

“Oh, very well. Porthos, are you going to put his things away?”

“Allow me,” Athos said, taking Charles’s dufflebag, and pushing the chair again over the sofabed under the stairs overhang. It had already been made up into a proper bed for him. “You’re down here for the duration. Hope it’s not too exposed for you.”

“No, it’s great. Are you sure it’s okay for me to be here, boss?”

Athos sat on the bed, and took Charles’s hand. “I absolutely insist on it,” he said quietly, giving Charles the full force of his amazing green eyes that Charles had been in love with since the first time they’d been turned on him. “I don’t know how we’ll go when the rest of us have to go back to work, but we’ll sort it out. You stay as long as you want, when you want. Always. Understood? I’m sorry my clumsy words made you think otherwise.”

“No, it’s okay.” He couldn’t pull his hand away. He couldn’t get enough of Athos’s hands on him, wherever they landed. “Are you okay, Athos?”

He expected his boss to lie. It was a shock when Athos bent his head, stroking his thumb over the hand he had trapped. “Not completely, Charles,” he said in a low voice intended only for Charles’s ears. “You and I have healing to do, so we will have to help each other. Is that all right?”

“More than all right, boss. I haven’t...haven’t been able to talk about it. Not even to Aramis.”

“He knows why. It’s okay. We have time. If I have to, I’ll make time. Now, are you in pain? Don’t lie. Aramis will skin you if you hide anything from him.”

“Ankle’s achy. The shoulder is the worst, unless I breathe too hard or twist. Then it’s the fucking ribs.”

“Painkillers help?”

“Yeah, but they screw with my head. Rather take them at night so I can sleep. Do you mind?”

“No, why would I? It’s your body and your mind. Do you want to lie down? Sit on a real chair? Go outside?”

Charles looked at the verdant garden beyond the windows. “Outside? Do you think I could manage the chair out there?”

“We’ll make it happen.” Athos stood. “Gentlemen, we’re relocating to the grass.”

It was incredibly embarrassing to have his wishes accommodated so quickly and gently by someone like Porthos, let alone Athos. _They’re worried sick about you_ , Constance’s voice sounded in his head. _They thought they were going to lose you._

All in all, it was probably a mercy Charles didn’t remember much about what happened in Libreville after the bastards broke out that electric baton and started stabbing him with it. One minute he was jerking and yelling, the next he was waking up in hospital being asked if he knew who he was by some doctor. There were a few chaotic impressions of explosions and noise and Athos yelling but he couldn’t make sense of it. He remembered Athos speaking German though. It meant Charles wasn’t alone, so long as he heard that.

He hadn’t even known the man spoke German, let alone well enough to curse and pray in it.

Porthos moved the wheelchair next to the wooden garden bench, and shifted Charles carefully onto it. Athos provided cushions and a little stool for his foot to rest on, then sat down next to him. Porthos threw himself onto the grass, as he usually did.

“Coffee, d’Artagnan?”

Charles looked up and took the mug from Aramis’s hand. “Thanks. So what fun are you all having that I’ll have to watch from the sidelines?”

“Same as usual. Sex, food, rock and roll.”

“By which he means swimming at the local pool and staid walks in the park,” Athos said in his usual dry tones.

“No swimming for me. No walks either, damn it.”

“Physical therapy starts next week,” Aramis said. “You won’t have a lot of energy once you’ve done that.”

“I don’t have any energy _now_.” He knew he sounded whiny, but he was sick and tired of feeling drained.

“That would be the enormous hole in your shoulder and all your various bruises and breaks sucking it up, trying to heal,” Aramis said. “So you need lots of rest, solid sleep, good food, and not too much coffee, seriously. Tea, you can have. Booze is a no-no.”

None of them drank around Athos, but Charles didn’t have much of a head or a taste for it, though he’d drink the odd glass of wine to be sociable. “S’okay. I’m gonna be bored out of my skull though by the end of it.”

Porthos lifted an eyebrow. “That’s what he thinks.”

“Porthos may or may not have spent a stupid amount of money on computer games to play with you,” Athos said. Charles suspected the money was probably Athos’s. “Don’t ask me about them. I never look at that kind of thing.”

Aramis stroked his moustache, hiding his grin. “Ah yes, it’s well known our noble leader spends his free time reading fine literature and dreaming of wispily-clad nymphs, sustained only by syllabub and candy floss.”

“You’re lucky I don’t have a book in my hand right now,” Athos said in his most clipped and aristocratic voice. Charles couldn’t help it. Athos’s posh accent made him hard. Always had done.

“And that’s my cue to run away and think about lunch. Any special requests? Charles?”

“Anything not served in a hospital.”

“That, I can manage. Porthos? Are you going to give me a hand?”

“Nah. I think I might go for a run, since the boss keeps going on about me running to fat or something.”

“I do no such thing. I made _one_ remark yesterday about not allowing it to happen to any of us.”

“Yeah, but you were looking at me. I’ll see you all later.”

Athos waved him off. “Do you want a cold drink, Charles? Or anything at all?”

“No, I’m fine. It’s so nice today, and I just want to enjoy it. Um, do you have anything you need to do?”

“Not a bloody thing. Treville insisted on my not working, and I can’t say I put up the least fight over it. Are you comfortable? Do you need another cushion?”

“Boss?”

“Yes, Charles?”

“Calm down.”

Athos smiled wryly. “Does it show that much?”

“Yeah. Though I’d be the same, if things were reversed.”

“Wish they had been,” Athos said in a quiet voice. “Charles, I’m so—”

“If you say you’re sorry for what happened to me, I’m gonna give Porthos my whole month’s pay to kick you in the nuts.”

Athos stared at him, mouth open in shock. “That’s possibly the most insubordinate thing anyone has ever said to me. Well done.”

“I thought I was talking to my friend, not my leader.”

“You are. I’m joking. Well, not about it being insubordinate. I’m _impressed_ , idiot.” He reached for Charles’s hand. “Am I not even allowed to regret what happened without taking personal blame for it? Which I don’t, since I’m not _stupid_.”

“Oh yeah, you can do that. Just don’t ever say you wish it’d been you going through that if you don’t want to piss me off a _lot_. I was glad it was me, not you. I mean, I’d have preferred it was none of us. Maybe Bond. A little.”

Athos laughed quietly. “He did have a way about him, didn’t he?”

“Don’t remind me. Such an arsehole.”

“Was he? Why ever didn’t you mention it before?”

Charles snorted. He had complained a _bit_ more than he should have, he supposed. But Bond was such a dickhead. “Anyway, my point was, it was a lottery where no one came out on top.”

“One to die, the other to watch. I know. Are you having nightmares?”

“Yeah, but not so much about that. The drugs, making things all freaky.” He shivered. “If that’s what taking the illegal stuff is like, keep it far away from me. Grass was bad enough for me.” He had never liked losing control. It had made him something of an oddity at university, even at school. Then he realised why Athos had asked. “ _You’re_ having bad dreams, aren’t you? Not just about me, about _her_.”

Athos sighed. “You were always the cleverest one on the team. Yes to both questions. But let’s not talk about me right now.”

“Why not? You think I’m more important because of my injuries?”

“Charles, you just got out of hospital a few hours ago. You’ve been here less than an hour. Give yourself a chance to settle in. I promise you, my offending mind won’t get any worse if we wait until you’ve at least had lunch, and Aramis has had a chance to explain all the new toys he’s bought you.”

“Why do I think these aren’t the fun kind he usually buys for Porthos?”

Athos shook his head, smiling. “I can’t say he didn’t buy the other kind. I choose not to know about that side of their relationship.”

“Note to self: the boss is vanilla.”

“I am _not_.” Charles grinned, and Athos rolled his eyes. “Piss off, brat.”

“I would if I was back in the chair.”

Instantly Athos was all concern again. “Do you need to move? Should we go inside?”

“No, and no, but if you’d like, we could. Athos, I’m just glad to be here. With you. Alive, with you.” He put out his hand and Athos took it immediately. “It was shit. I’m not gonna lie. I was scared and hurt and angry, but I just kept thinking I had to not speak French. Because Rochefort wanted to know where we were from. So I didn’t.”

“I was amazed by how much filth you came out with. Aramis has been leading you astray.” But his fingers clenched hard around Charles’s fingers.

“Yeah, he’s bad like that. Then Bond said something in...Russian...and you came out with German, so it was like a game. After a bit, I couldn’t remember why we were playing it, but I knew I had to. It was important. I can’t remember why though. Why I had to....” Charles stopped. His throat was closing up and his eyes were filling with tears. “That was all I could remember. I had to...keep speaking Spanish. Was that the right thing to do, boss?”

Athos reached for him and pulled him into a hug, even now being careful of his shoulder and bruises. “Yes, it was,” he whispered. “It was the perfect thing to do. You’re brilliant and brave, Charles. I was so afraid I was going to watch you die.”

“Don’t even remember how we got out of there. Don’t remember anything once they pulled out that stun gun. Aramis said she...Milady...saved us.”

“She did. You don’t remember her shooting Rochefort?”

“No. Boss, we would have died, right? I mean, you didn’t have a plan, Bond didn’t have a plan. Monsieur Q....”

Athos stroked his hair back gently. “He would have just sent the bombs. He knew we were captured. He couldn’t do more than he had. Aramis and Porthos would never have been able to get in there and get us out. I’m sorry.”

“So...all I did was stop them hurting you?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m glad. I didn’t fuck it up.” He buried his face in Athos’s shoulder. “Didn’t fuck up.”

“Not even a little bit, Charles. She didn’t save me. You did.” Athos was crying too, now. “You don’t know how much you saved me.”

Charles clung to his boss, his hero, his friend. The man he loved and would follow to the end of the earth. He didn’t know how he’d saved him if they’d all been about to die, but he did know he wouldn’t let him go now.

They sat like that, holding each other for a long time. Porthos came back, because Charles heard him talking to Aramis. But neither of the other two came near him. He was glad they didn’t. He needed this. Athos needed this. They needed each other as much as the four of them did, maybe more.

If a good brave man like Athos could need him, then maybe Charles was a good, brave man too. He tried to be. He wanted to be. Athos deserved that. He would always be that man, when Athos needed him.

**Author's Note:**

> And there will have to be another story, doesn't there?
> 
> All comments, criticisms and corrections craved.


End file.
